Yesterday afternoon, my husband met my mother at the airport to accompany her on the train ride to our station. When they arrived at our stop, a woman asked my husband and my mom to hold the elevator for a woman who was injured. They did. And when my husband saw the injured woman, limping terribly, he exited the elevator and guided her to a bench. He knelt before her, removed her shoe and sock, and held her foot in his hands.
He asked her if there was someone who could take her to a hospital as it appeared as though she may have torn a ligament. She called her husband who was unkind to her, so Jeff took the phone and explained the situation to him. After hanging up with him, Jeff asked the woman if he could wait with her until her husband arrived or if he could accompany her in an ambulance. She kindly refused. He gave her his phone number and insisted she call him if her husband didn’t come or if she needed a friend. She thanked him. And he came and met us at our car.
The only reason I know this is because my mother told me. Jeff never mentioned it. Because that is the kind of man he is. To him, giving is not optional. It is a way of life.
This man, who I am blessed to call my husband, doesn’t wear a cape or a mask but he walks with a servant’s heart every day. And that makes him a hero to me.